Poetry: “Lines”

I remember as a child I’d hold My mother’s hands and Trace the lines I saw there plain upon her palms The crevices and indentations Wear and tear of all her years I’d marvel at this tiny map A tale of all my mother’d done Comparing them With my own hands The smoothness of a child’s palm It seemed so alien to me How my hands might Turn out that way That life could etch itself so deep With lines drawn deep As if in sand

Now I am older and I see My hands are much like those I’d held Like my mother I have lived I’ve worked and toiled And done so much To look upon my palms you’ll find Lines criss-crossing over them When I doubt I’ve lived enough I simply have to look on down Open up my hands and see Yes, see my life drawn out in lines